Accidental Surrogate

Ella

It’s all come down to this.

My mind reels as I stare into the dark forest. For weeks I feel like Sinclair and I have been trapped in the same pattern: flirting, holding ourselves back, slipping up and falling in too deep, then retreating. It’s felt like two steps forward and one step back, but the reality is that those one steps have gradually brought us closer to this point. The wild hunt feels like a turning point for our relationship – a critical test to decide whether we become lovers or stay friends – if that’s what you can call us.

I know it’s up to me to decide. For all his affection, compliments and terms of endearment, Sinclair has promised to follow my lead when it comes to taking things to the next level. I appreciate his restraint, but there’s also a part of me that wants him to take the decision out of my hands. It’s just one more impulse this pup has given me that I can’t even begin to understand. I’ve never wanted anyone to decide anything for me in my entire life, yet here I am agonizing over my desire for a man I barely know, wishing I didn’t have to be responsible for once in my life.

I think that’s the problem. The temptation is so powerful that I want to throw caution to the wind, but I know better. I know so much better. So why am I still debating this?

Because it’s Sinclair. He’s different. He belongs to us. The little voice in my head encourages.

I don’t know what drugs you’ve been taking, but you really need to get a hold of yourself. I counter, feeling more certain now that my conscience has demonstrated just how insane this pregnancy is making us.

pass when I give birth. I can’t run around writing checks that my heart won’t be able to cash in a few

anticipation of the hunt. I’m sure Sinclair and I looked much the same a few moments ago, but now I’ve stepped forward to begin the ritual. Ethereal music fills the air, a nearby orchestra playing instruments I’ve never before seen, as drums and singing voices raise towards the full moon. Gooseflesh raises on my chilled skin, and for the first time since this journey began, I understand what Aileen meant when she said shifters can feel the Goddess’s magic. I’m probably just imagining it, like someone who believes they’ve taken drugs and therefore acts intoxicated, but I could swear

I feel different tonight.

face towards the heavens, letting the strange sensations grow. Is it crazy to think I can actually feel the moon on

He’s wearing a fur cape like my own, but underneath he’s completely shirtless, sporting only sleek black trousers and bare feet. His green eyes are glowing through the darkness, and I can see his claws and fangs extended. His wolf must be right at the surface, and I remember what he told me about his power

be so much more intense for the actual shifters. I find myself shivering and turning away before the voice in my head can tell me to go steal a kiss or immediately flee. Instead I take a deep breath and set off into the darkness, starting slowly as the music builds.

nothing sounds better than racing through the trees and feeling the cold winter wind on my skin. The deep snow makes it difficult, but the golden light of my lantern casts a warm glow on the dense

trembling and quaking as Sinclair’s wolf calls to me. The sound paralyzes me, no doubt giving him a head start as he takes up his pursuit, but once it’s over I’m able to carry on. At this point a true she-wolf would abandon the lantern and clothing to shift, but Sinclair promised me no one would notice I don’t. All the other wolves are much

can still hear the distant music, and adrenaline and exhilaration flood my form as I continue running. I’m grinning so wide my cheeks hurt, and actually on the verge of giggling. Why haven’t I ever run in the forest before? I had no

been touching me, bringing all of my neglected nerve endings to life the way only he can. I’m beginning to really dislike his howls.

Sinclair catch me, but now that seems impossible. It’s not even an option. I don’t want to be caught. I just want to keep running

to stop us? My conscience inquires. He’s not the boss of us,